I have a deeply rooted dream:
Of freedom and justice as food
at the table of brotherhood,
closer, closer than it may seem
to be today; I have a dream.
In the fiery streets of those states
where oppressive injustice weights
despair’s yoke upon all others,
lifted by my faithful brothers,
we grasp the dream our hope creates
Written following Ronovan’s Weekly Decima Challenge on RonovanWrites – #07 “Dream”RonovanWrites – #07 “Dream”RonovanWrites – #07 “Dream”
inspired by Dr Martin Luther King’s public speech delivered during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom on August 28, 1963, in which he called for civil and economic rights and an end to racism in the United States.
Initially made me mad Don’t believe a word ever said Indistinguished, morally dead, Oblivious, ignorant, sad; Trolling any outing the bad, In a country riddled with lies, No guilt by those feeding the cries; The dumb elephant in the room – His base chanting the ballots’ doom, Even as the flag sags, hope tries…
White wrinkles around vacant eyes, His head a ridiculous plume In truth’s spotlight will squirm and fume; The bruised ego of absurd size Ever fooled “love” not money buys House sub-let by some guy named ‘Vlad’ Overseeing each faked attack ad; Underhand and avarice-led, So before democracy’s dead, Elect Dumbo? You must be mad…
Written following Ronovan’s Weekly Decima Challenge on RonovanWrites – #3 “Mad” – a gymnastic variation double decima with a reverse and a twist.
My father knows the proper way
The nation should be run;
He tells us children every day
Just what should now be done.
He knows the way to fix the trusts,
He has a simple plan;
But if the furnace needs repairs,
We have to hire a man.
My father, in a day or two
Could land big thieves in jail;
There’s nothing that he cannot do,
He knows no word like “fail.”
“Our confidence” he would restore,
Of that there is no doubt;
But if there is a chair to mend,
We have to send it out.
All public questions that arise,
He settles on the spot;
He waits not till the tumult dies,
But grabs it while it’s hot.
In matters of finance he can
Tell Congress what to do;
But, O, he finds it hard to meet
His bills as they fall due.
It almost makes him sick to read
The things law-makers say;
Why, father’s just the man they need,
He never goes astray.
All wars he’d very quickly end,
As fast as I can write it;
But when a neighbor starts a fuss,
‘Tis mother has to fight it.
In conversation father can
Do many wondrous things;
He’s built upon a wiser plan
Than presidents or kings.
He knows the ins and outs of each
And every deep transaction;
We look to him for theories,
But look to ma for action” ― Edgar A. Guest
There’s a fake tanned sleazy buffoon – calls himself the Donald
A terrifying orange fool of a clown, with less substance than Ronald;
Now I’m not a citizen, and I won’t ever be a US resident
Can’t fathom how he got voted in; thank God he’ll never be my President
Day 14 of Na/GloPoWriMo and NaPoWriMo.net suggests keeping it light and silly today, with a clerihew: this is a four line poem biographical poem that satirizes a famous persona whimsical, four-line biographical poem invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. The first line is the name of the poem’s subject, usually a famous person put in an absurd light, or revealing something unknown and/or spurious about them. The rhyme scheme is AABB, and the rhymes are often forced.
Not sure I kept it whimsical or light, but’s it’s all I’ve got today. See a great associated image by following this link.